We sit

on white slabs of stone

There are fewer of us

now

The seagulls

horizontal apostrophes

find this funny

or at least

they guffaw momentarily

it’s not easy

keeping punctuation afloat

airborne

and at the same time

keeping up with the boat

Loss

is a small chair

in the church

meant for a child

but the adults use them

Actually

they are quite comfortable

it’s nice

being closer to the floor

the perspective is different

The saint’s eyes

follow you

wherever you go

whatever you may

have thought you were

he knows

Hours of standing in church

that willingness to be there

to stay upright

even when the ship

lurches

That act of resolution

is all we are

is everything

The time passes

seems not to exist

I have experienced this

before

Ten minutes is

two hours

two hours

a gesture

kneeling on the floor

helping someone

unhook their chain

their cross

their anchor

A cross

is all that anchors you

to this world

I look up

The passengers are

even fewer

more whiteness

confronts my eyes

People are black words

time a blank page

waiting to be filled

Saturday, 10.15 am

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